


Bottled

by tinycrown



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycrown/pseuds/tinycrown
Summary: Arator just wants him to talk instead of keeping everything in, but Anduin feels it an impossible task.
Relationships: Arator the Redeemer/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Bottled

The shrill breeze that swept over his exposed legs drew bumps from under his skin, a shiver crawling up his spine as he curled against the petite wicker sofa, a pillow resting behind him and cushioning the dull ache in his lower back. Perilous wounds that desired no relief, only to cause discomfort and pain. He couldn’t count the nights on one hand that his body had decided to wake him up in the dead of night, or leave him unable to rest at all. 

So Anduin sat alone in the nook of the balcony just above the Royal Library, a bottle of- unfortunately not Dalaran Red, he’d drank up their supply and were awaiting for more to arrive- whisky. From his father’s collection, untouched for ages so the bitter, stale taste drew through and left each gulp disgustingly sharp. 

Though often he’d wake from pain, that night… he’d awoken from a terrible nightmare with a frantic yell and a cold sheen of sweat drying under his clothes. From the moment he felt terror raise his hackles, he knew he wouldn’t be going back to bed anytime soon. 

It was a wonder Arator hadn’t shot out of bed from the noise that wrenched itself from his chest. Dozing peacefully, ignorant to the world. He was glad he hadn’t woke him, knowing how precious rest could be for the weary. His lover was no exclusion from that group. 

The small balcony above the Royal Library was rarely used, usually only by him, so he figured that would make a wonderful spot for a miserable drink in solitude that didn’t have him dressing up and escaping into the city. He hadn’t the strength to rub pungent, inky boot polish in his hair for the fourth time that week. It turned his pale blonde hair into something brown- it made him wonder what he would look like if he resembled more of his father than his mother.

Anduin sighed and brought the stinking bottle to his lips, sipping carefully. His mind had been growing pleasantly numb since the first droplet hit his tongue. But he had slowed his intake, not wanting to make a fuss and alert the guards of his pathetic wallowing by getting absolutely sloshed. He’d had enough of the questioning glances they sent his way already. Questioning- concerned, both? He hadn’t a clue. 

He set the bottle back down onto his bare thigh, tracing a ragged, pallid scar with the pad of his finger. 

“Anduin?”

He jumped at the sudden voice, nearly tipping the large bottle that he’d been leaning against his chest over onto the stone tile below. To not spill, he carefully maneuvered it onto the ground and twisted slightly, bracing his arm against the solidly woven backrest of wicker.

“Hey,” he greeted the groggy half-elf promptly, hoping his voice wasn’t too telling. The paladin trudged over to the sofa, plopping down not too gracefully. A small smile quirked his lips. Arator was adorably tired, though… a frown was quick to replace what amusement he found as he realized that _he_ was most likely the cause of waking his exhausted lover from his much-needed rest. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same,” Anduin winced, noting the exasperated tone in his voice. “Are you alright?” A large, calloused hand rested on his arm, and he exhaled through his nose. Arator was _warm._ He longed for nothing more than to sink into his arms and find peace… though he knew his mind would never allow such a fantasy. He could only reach peace at the end of a bottle. 

There were so many ways to answer, none of them satisfactory. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to tell the truth- however avoiding the inquiry entirely was sure to upset him. Anduin instead pressed his lips together and placed his hand over Arator’s, giving him a tired stare that he hoped would stall any more questions. 

“You’re drunk.” He stated bluntly. Anduin flinched. 

“I wouldn’t say _drunk,”_ he retorted softly, skimming his fingers over his flattened knuckles. “It’s not as if I’m stumbling around the Keep out of control.” His compromise was hardly positive. This was not the first time Arator had found him attempting to drink away his problems.

There was a terse silence, but Arator made no move to take his hand away. Anduin was thankful. 

“Do you remember what you did for me, when I woke up from my nightmares?” He asked suddenly, shifting closer to him. “You calmed me, held me close. We talked.” he felt his other hand snake around his back, moving him from his stuck position on the sofa. Anduin nearly melted into the wall of solid warmth and kind touches. Arator’s hand brushed his lower back and pressed the shorter man tight to his chest, all the while never letting go of his arm. 

“Why won’t you _talk_ to me, Anduin?” 

It… was a good question. Anduin had no reasonable argument as to why, he just… did not want to _burden_ him with the stressful problems he dealt with daily. Whether they were actively present during his day they were just always… _there._ They never left. But memories always stuck, late at night, and were twisted and warped into something evil, he could never remember them the same. 

“I... I don’t know…” he murmured, his hand tightening over Arator’s, trying to come up with some reasonable explanation as to why he fled. He looked up, and seeing the nearly tortured look that had become the paladin’s face nearly drove him to tears. “Arator, _please-”_

“Don’t try to tell me it’s not the same!” He struggled to control his volume as he tugged the priest closer to him. “It _is,_ and I love you. So why won’t you _talk to me?”_

The half-elf pressed his nose into his hair, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Years of frustration and desperation left him with a short fuse, often able to explode much easier than he’d care to admit. Though none of the anger was ever explicitly aimed at anyone, passion always became a forefront. Anduin knew that it just meant that he cared, but the paladin was often quick to apologize after. In a way, it reminded Anduin of his father. 

“You have always had much on your plate, and _now,”_ the king sighed, reaching up to caress his jaw softly. “I try to be mindful and to let you relax like you deserve… but I just… can’t bring myself to speak with you about things that could potentially…” he struggled to form the words, “ _worry_ you.” 

“You’re saying you don’t want to burden me with your problems, Anduin?” He almost sounded shocked, and the priest became confused. “Then why have you allowed me to do the same to you?” His hand stilled on the paladin’s face, thumb pressing gently against his slightly stubbled cheek. Arator leaned into his palm, sighing. 

“I don’t want you to bottle anything up, I- I _love_ you, too. It’s not… about _trust,_ it’s just…” He made a pathetic sound and pulled back, eyes squeezed shut in shame. He was a _fool._ A dundering, slightly-drunk _fool._

“You feel your problems have much more weight than my own,” Arator concluded quietly, “you think I can’t handle it.” 

_“No!_ Light- _no,_ Arator, you’re so strong and I _know_ that, but I just-!” 

“You can’t face _everything_ on your own!” He stressed, pulling away just enough to knock their foreheads together. The ashamed king avoided his gaze, his lips pulled into a pained frown. “You’re already breaking apart. Doing _this,”_ he spat angrily at the half-empty bottle, his face wrinkling in disgust. “Nearly every _night,_ Anduin.” His expression grew soft again as he drew his gaze back to his lover. 

It wasn’t hard to acknowledge that Arator was right, though he was comforting him, Anduin felt as if he were slipping away. A sob tore from his dry throat, shocking the half-elf bent to meet his gaze. He was fighting the tears that threatened to fall, his teeth grit as he scrubbed furiously at his eyes. 

After a few moments of silence, Anduin slumped, nearly withdrawn into himself. 

“Please,” he whispered, sounding almost pained, “I need _time.”_

Arator folded both arms around the king and hid a frown in his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,” he nodded, fighting a grimace. “I can wait as long as I need to.” 

“... I’m sorry.” Anduin murmured into the hollow of his neck, his fingers trembling as he traced faint scars across the half-elf’s chest. A familiar routine he practiced nightly, curled in bed with him. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured him, squeezing his side. “I’m not angry.” The blatant lie felt like poison on his tongue. Arator _was_ upset. But him being angry was hardly what the younger man needed, and comfort was always well received. 

_“I’m sorry.”_ Anduin whispered again.

Arator didn’t answer, and only held him tighter. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi  
> s'been a while  
> i started this at 1am last night. forgive any typos i missed or weird wordings. 
> 
> let me know what you think  
> <3


End file.
